


What My Enemy is Doing Presently

by inkblot_fiend



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Irresponsible Use of Magic, M/M, Strange's POV, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkblot_fiend/pseuds/inkblot_fiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jonathan Strange would watch his enemy his idle moments, when reading magical histories grew tiresome or when the dinner conversation turned too much to matters of religion. Late in the evenings, if he could not sleep, he would leave Bell in their bed and go to the study and have a quick look at what his enemy was up to."</p>
            </blockquote>





	What My Enemy is Doing Presently

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following Kink Meme prompt: 
> 
> "Unsettled by the mirror spell's suggestion that Norrell is his enemy, Strange continues to use it to spy on Norrell from time to time, always, inevitably, finding him reading. Late one night he decides to see if the man ever actually sleeps and casts the spell again, only to witness Norrell being soundly buggered by Childermass."
> 
> I took a few liberties.

Jonathan Strange would watch his enemy his idle moments, when reading magical histories grew tiresome or when the dinner conversation turned too much to matters of religion. Late in the evenings, if he could not sleep, he would leave Bell in their bed and go to the study and have a quick look at what his enemy was up to.

Not much, was the usual answer. His enemy read a great deal of books, wrote a great deal of notes and every now and then fell asleep with a book open in his lap. It would be frightfully dull, if Jonathan were not convinced the man was about to display some great streak of evil that would explain exactly _why_ they were enemies. Unless his enemy was simply blandness itself, in which case he should resolve to find the man and teach him to dance.

On one evening, while Bell was helping her brother with his latest sermon, Jonathan saw something delightfully new in his mirror. His enemy was sleeping in his armchair, which he had been doing a lot more of lately, and his book was threatening to fall onto the floor, which Jonathan suspected he would not much like. Seeing as they were enemies, he had set a bet with himself on what the man's reaction would be when it happened. Before he could discover his answer he heard the faint creaking of a door and a voice, quiet and a little distorted, as if by water.

“Mr Norrell?”

Ah! So his enemy had a name. Jonathan moved the mirror around until he located the source of the voice: a tall, unkempt man with a thick accent. Well! If anyone should be his enemy surely it would be this fellow. He certainly had the look of a scallywag.

The man in question moved silently around the office and knelt beside Mr Norrell. He carefully lifted the book off his lap, closed it and set it on the nearest table. “Mr Norrell, sir,” he said again, “It is past eleven.” He squeezed Norrell's arm.

Mr Norrell woke with an unhappy murmur, and the man, who must be a servant of some kind despite his unruly appearance, led him by the arm out of the office.

Well indeed, thought Jonathan. I have his name!

In subsequent evenings Jonathan conducted something of an experiment: rather than fixing his vigil on Mr Norrell he began to move his mirror more, hoping to learn more about his enemy. What he learned first of all was that the servant was almost always in the office along with his master. He leaned in shadowy corners and hunched at a small writing desk, always close at hand and yet never intruding on his master's work. Jonathan also learned in time that his name was Childermass, and that Norrell relied on him for everything from regular meals to news of the outside world. At other times in the day there might be other men in and out of Norrell's office, but Childermass was the only constant.

Jonathan found himself delighted by their unusual partnership. Norrell respected Childermass' opinion, and Childermass showed none of the fear or cringing deference that had characterised servants in Jonathan's life before now. He had always thought it deeply unfair, the way Jeremy and the others were treated, but had forever lacked the courage to stand against his father. It seemed to Jonathan that he and his enemy already had far too much in common to be able to quarrel.

It was late one night when the whole business became confused. Jonathan, unable to return to sleep after a visit to the corridors of his childhood in his dreams, had taken himself off to the sanctuary of the sitting room, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and decided to find out if his enemy was similarly restless. He found Norrell in his own armchair by the fire. Jonathan let out a small laugh at their similarity before had quite finished seeing what the mirror was showing him.

Norrell's head was tipped back, his embroidered cap was at an unusual angle on his head and his face had gone all blotchy. Jonathan might have assumed the man was sick with fever, were it not for the unsettling presence of Childermass, who was kneeling on the floor between Norrell's legs and providing the kind of service that -

Jonathan turned the mirror over on his legs and looked away, his face hot and his breath tight. What he should do, he knew, was end the spell and return to his bed, never to cast magic again. He should have some sense of propriety and moral fiber.

A muffled moan rose from the mirror. With trembling fingers Jonathan turned it over and dared to look again. He turned himself around in his chair so that he had a different – better – angle on proceedings.

Both men were fully dressed, save for the necessary opening of Norrell's breeches. Childermass was hunched over him, his head buried in Norrell's crotch and his arms wrapped around Norrell's middle to keep him in place. Norrell had his legs around Childermass' torso and his hands clenched in Childermass' hair. If he was hurting him, the servant showed no sign of it.

“Almost,” Norrell gasped, “Oh, just a little -”

Childermass quickened his pace and groaned heartily, and Jonathan gasped in sympathy. It had been a very long time since he had chased that kid of pleasure for himself. He wanted for nothing in his marriage, but to see pleasure of this type wrought upon another made his blood grow hot and his prick stand up.

“Chil-Childermass,” said Norrell, and at last he looked down into his servant's eyes. Whatever he saw there must have pleased him greatly, for his face scrunched up and his hands tightened to hold Childermass in place as he convulsed.

Childermass groaned again and Jonathan watched intently as his throat worked to swallow. When Norrell was spent Childermass eased himself back and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. That done, he moved to restore Norrell's breeches to their proper state with the usual efficiency of servants.

“Thank you, Childermass,” said Norrell weakly. He glanced awkwardly down at his servant and then away, drumming his fingers on the arm rests. “I think I might sleep now.”

Childermass smiled wolfishly. “As you say, sir.”

Jonathan could stand it no more. He ended the spell and put the mirror aside so he could take his aching cock in hand and add another sin to his rapidly growing collection.

* * *

There had been some noble idea in his head that he would not again intrude on Mr Norrell and his servant. It was not proper, or decent, especially not when the gentlemen in question could not know their acts had been witnessed and enjoyed so thoroughly. Jonathan had every intention of putting the whole mirror business to rest and returning whole-heartedly to studying other magic. It would have been easily done for a gentleman of his usual morality, but Jonathan had always held that nothing could be so wrong that caused a person great pleasure. It was a subject he avoided bringing up anywhere near his brother-in-law's hearing, of course.

It was certainly not as if he were unhappy in his marriage, indeed he and Arabella frequently explored such physical delights as to leave each other happily exhausted and entwined like ancient roots beneath the covers. It was just that he did not necessarily think that having one kind of pastry meant the entire bakery should be off limits. He would never act on it, he was not that kind of blackguard, but if, when his wife was otherwise occupied or simply not in the mood to be entertained, he should imagine someone other than her for his own gratification, he did not think that made him unfaithful. He hoped that she would do the same, though he did not know how to ask her.

Which is to say that a week had not passed before Arabella announced a visit to friends in the next village and Jonathan found himself left quite alone for the evening. Late in the night, when the rest of the house was sleeping and he was tucked up in his bed he felt a heated sort of curiosity and his resolve cracked like thin ice. He looked once again to see his enemy in the mirror.

It was a surprise, this time, to see Norrell had left his library and was instead propped up on a few pillows on his bed. Jonathan might have been shocked, were it not for the ubiquitous book open on his enemy's lap. The scene made him feel oddly fond of Mr Norrell, for he still wore his cap and had his night shirt buttoned to the throat and wrists. Jonathan was about to bid him a chaste good-night when the door to the bedchamber creaked open, and Jonathan felt the frisson that went through his enemy at the sound.

Norrell glanced up from his book and then back down at the page he was reading. “I have been here forty minutes,” he said, and Jonathan noted how his voice became clipped with irritation.

“I had my duties to see to, sir,” said Childermass, a little icily, from the door. “You would not like such things to go unfinished.”

“Well,” said Norrell, putting his book to one side, and Childermass seemed to take that as permission, for he locked the bedroom door and moved to the end of Norrell's bed. Norrell looked down and fidgeted with the covers as he said, “You may undress.”

Jonathan thought this rather poor form. Certainly their relationship must be complicated by their respective statuses, but he had always fancied there must be some shedding of that kind of skin once doors were closed and intentions were clear. He was beginning to see that he and Norrell had very different ideas about a great many things, and he wondered why Childermass stood for it.

For his part, Childermass seemed unruffled by his master's lack of manners and indeed smirked and began to do as Norrell had suggested. First he slipped off his jacket and let it fall to the floor. He stepped out of his shoes and pulled at his neck cloth, moving around the bed to stand closer to Norrell. He opened each button on his waistcoat with a swift motion, and both Norrell and Jonathan tracked the quick motions of his hands with slightly open mouths. In time Childermass was able to shrug off the waistcoat and pull his shirt off over his head, at which sight Jonathan gasped and Norrell blinked rather rapidly for a moment or two.

“Do I please you, sir?” asked Childermass with a predatory twist of his mouth.

Norrell looked away, a blush rising up on his cheeks. It was plain to Jonathan that Norrell was indeed pleased, but seemed to have trouble voicing it. In the meantime Childermass set about removing his breeches, and depriving Jonathan of his air again when he revealed that there was no other layer between himself and the thick wool trousers. Did he always go about like that, Jonathan wondered, or was it only for special occasions?

Childermass rolled his eyes at Norrell, but since his master was presently examining the embroidery on his bed spread and would not see it, there seemed to be a certain affection in his eyes and a slight softening about his smile. He made quick work of his stockings and was then naked, and Jonathan was gratified to see that his prick was standing up proud and red. The excitement of seeing Childermass' evident enjoyment curled hotly in Jonathan's stomach and began the swelling of his own manhood. He shifted a little, spreading his legs under the covers.

“Yes,” said Norrell, suddenly. He still did not look up. “Of course you do. It is a foolish question.”

Childermass took hold of the cover and slowly pulled it down. Norrell let go of his portion reluctantly and took straight away to worrying the cuffs of his night shirt. Anyone would think the man a blushing virgin, but there was far too much ritual here for Jonathan to think that could possibly be the case. Indeed, as Childermass climbed onto the bed he reached under Norrell's pillows and produced a small stoppered bottle whose purpose was plain.

“I do not ask foolish questions,” Childermass said, arranging himself so that he had a knee either side of Norrell's waist. He set the bottle down within easy reach and leaned in to press a kiss on Norrell's lips. It was irritatingly chaste; Jonathan thought Norrell could benefit from the kind of thorough kissing he enjoyed with Arabella, the kind that left both parties gasping and pushing for more. He further imagined that Childermass would be very adept at such kisses, and marvelled at his restraint.

The kiss he had bestowed on Norrell was ended, though Childermass still leaned close to Norrell. He kissed him on his cheek, his forehead, even his nose, and kiss by kiss Norrell thawed until he had lost enough awareness of himself to raise his hands to Childermass' shoulders. Childermass kissed his lips again, another dry rasp of skin, but Norrell was flushed with arousal and when Childermass sat up Jonathan saw that the front of his night shirt was distorted in a very familiar way.

“H-have you -” Norrell stammered, then sucked in a lungful of air and tried again, “Have you prepared, Childermass?”

Childermass took hold of Norrell's shirt in two hands and rucked it up, exposing pale, hairy legs and and a trembling cock. “I have,” Childermass said in a low voice that plucked at Jonathan's arousal as well as Norrell's. “Is that what you would like?”

If he had been able to, Jonathan would have advised against this attempt to draw any lewd discussion out of Norrell. It was plain to see that the man was a stick in the mud with no visible social graces and indeed all Norrell did was nod and squeeze Childermass' shoulders a little tighter. Jonathan, for his part, could think of a great number of things he would like, and thought it might be very fine indeed to whisper such filth into the scallywag's ear until he was begging for completion.

Instead, Childermass knelt over Norrell and reached for the bottle. He pulled the cork out with his teeth and poured an amount of the oil within onto his palm, all the while watched intensely by Norrell and by Jonathan. He reached down and took his master's cock in hand to rub the oil onto it. Norrell gasped and Jonathan felt a sympathetic throb as Childermass reached around to guide his master's to his entrance. Childermass sank down, impaling himself slowly, and as the pleasure of this writ itself across both of their faces Jonathan fumbled under his own night shirt to touch his aching prick. He groaned at the relief in the same moment that Norrell let out a strangled little sob – which was also the same moment at which Childermass paused to catch his breath with the whole of Norrell's cockstand inside him. What a wonderful picture they made!

As Childermass lifted himself and began to rock gently back and forth Norrell cried out and Jonathan matched the pace on himself. It was slower than he would like, and softer, but it seemed to suit Norrell, who was red-faced and panting and had moved his hands to clutch Childermass' thighs, stroking encouragement that he could not voice. It seemed acceptable to Childermass, too, whose eyes would sometimes slip closed and his mouth fall open whenever he caused Norrell to strike that place inside himself which would bring particular pleasure.

Jonathan could not help but quicken his stroke. He was impatient, and this pace of Norrell's could cause a man to rub himself raw before finding his climax. He wished that he could be in that bedroom, wherever it was, so that he could direct Childermass to drive harder. Most of all he wished he could bend Norrell over and show him what a proper buggering was like, rough and joyous and full of odd grunting. He would coax such sounds out of Norrell that had never been heard from his lips before, and in the meantime – he rubbed his thumb over his cockhead and moaned happily as the thought raced through his head – in the meantime Childermass would find a home for his neglected prick inside Jonathan, oh, he could feel it, and the three of them would rut like that together until Norrell howled out his release and the other two followed him over -

The real Norrell clamped one hand over his mouth and with the other dug his nails into Childermass' thigh. He muffled the sound of his orgasm most effectively, and Jonathan might have missed it were it not for Childermass grunting and saying, “That's it, sir,” in a way that sounded almost proud. Norrell's head fell back on the pillow, his body entirely limp. Childermass eased himself off Norrell without delay, forcing a small whimper out of Norrell.

Now would be the perfect time, Jonathan thought, to offer Childermass some reciprocation, the use of a hand or mouth, but Norrell only stroked his hand over the small injuries he had cut into Childermass' thigh as Childermass saw to his own relief. Childermass set himself a fast, brutal rhythm, which Jonathan took to with similar vigour. Norrell watched his servant through heavy eyes and kept up his gentle petting throughout.

Childermass leaned over Norrell, bracing himself with one hand next to his master's head, the better to fix him with his eyes and breathe the same warm air as he stroked himself. There was an expression a little like panic on Norrell's face, but he found the courage to lift his one hand and run it up Childermass' side until it was tangled in his' wild locks. Jonathan could feel the building pressure in his cock that meant the time was almost upon him, and he urged Childermass on. As if he had heard, Childermass leaned down the last few inches and slipped his tongue into Norrell's unresisting mouth. Jonathan yelped in surprise and came with force, making a mess of his legs and the bed.

When the ringing in his ears subsided he realised he had dropped the mirror in his ecstasy and scrabbled to pick it up. He was just in time to see Childermass bury his head in Norrell's shoulder and Norrell squeeze his fingers into Childermass' hair as the servant gasped and splashed his release across his master's chest and stomach.

There followed a few moments filled with the trembling of limbs and regaining of breaths. Childermass rose first, as Jonathan supposed was fitting, and went to fetch a damp cloth from Norrell's wash stand. He cleaned their emissions up with a practised sort of efficiency, which Norrell watched with anxious interest. Jonathan, for his part, simply relaxed into his bed, enjoying the heaviness of his limbs and the slowing thump of his heart.

“Thank you, Childermass,” Norrell said, then gave a broad yawn.

Childermass pulled down the night shirt to restore his master's dignity then moved to pull the covers back across. Norrell made a small, unhappy noise, which Jonathan could only assume was entirely involuntary. Childermass rolled his eyes, but there was something of a smile there, too, and he clambered back onto the bed and covered them both in the bed sheet. They both laid on their backs and kept a distance between them, but there must have been some comfort for the two in knowing the other was no more than a hand's breadth away. It made very little sense to Jonathan, who preferred to hold his wife close throughout the night, but these two were men whose motives and boundaries were so complex as to be utterly beyond the comprehension of a sensible outsider.

Perhaps, Jonathan decided at last, they were best left to their own devices. He ended the spell with a word and slid the mirror away under his bed. His enemy was an odd duck, his servant even odder, and as Jonathan fell into the deep sleep of the well and truly satisfied, he hoped that they had at least some measure of happiness between them. After all, even one's enemies deserved to be loved.

 

 


End file.
